The Rosie Effect
Page 79
I opened the file of scanned worksheets and began to match them with invoices. I was right. Most of his work had not been entered into the computer, hence not billed to the clients. There was a limit to what I could do to rectify the situation. Creating invoices required accounting knowledge that I did not have. If I made errors in billing, Dave might be perceived as incompetent or a cheat.
Fortunately I had access to a qualified accountant. It took Sonia and me until 3.18 p.m. to create the invoices: state taxes varied, invoices for labour and materials were filed separately, Dave had offered a variety of inconsistent mark-ups and discounts.
Sonia contributed comments that alternated between sympathetic and critical: ‘God, this is so complex. No wonder he put it aside.’
‘Eight thousand dollars. From three months ago!’
‘We’ve been living on cash from George. Dave’s an idiot.’
When we were finished we had a pile of envelopes ready for posting and had emailed numerous other bills.
‘Show me the creditors’ total first. I want to know what we owe before I get too excited.’
I checked: $0.00.
‘That’s Dave for you,’ said Sonia. ‘We can’t afford to eat, but no fridge manufacturer is going to have a cash flow problem because of Dave Bechler. Now you can show me the debtors’ total. I’ve been too scared to keep track.’
‘$53,216.65,’ I said. ‘Dave’s estimate of twenty to thirty thousand was incorrect. And it’s reduced because payment has arrived online for two of the invoices you phoned about.’
Sonia began crying.
‘You were hoping for more?’ I asked.
Sonia was now laughing and crying simultaneously. How can it be possible to make sense of such displays of emotion?
‘I’m going to make a coffee to celebrate,’ she said. ‘A real coffee.’
‘You’re pregnant.’
‘You noticed.’ It would have been impossible not to notice. Sonia was huge. The reminder to moderate caffeine could not have been more obvious.
‘How many have you had today?’
‘I’m Italian. I’m having da coffee alla da time.’ She laughed.
‘I’ll have an alcoholic drink with Dave when he gets home.’ I was being empathetic to Dave at a distance.
‘Dave caused this.’ The crying appeared to have stopped. ‘Don, you’ve saved my life.’
‘Incorrect. I—’
‘I know, I know. Don, when you said a therapist told you that you weren’t right for Rosie, I couldn’t ask in front of Dave, but you weren’t talking about Lydia, were you?’
English is annoying in not having unambiguous responses for answering a question framed in the negative. The simple addition of the equivalent of the French word si (‘Yes, I am talking about Lydia’) would solve the problem. Sonia, however, must have read my expression, as no verbal reply was required.
‘Don. Lydia doesn’t even know Rosie. She knows me.’
‘That’s the problem. I was approved for parenthood with you, but not with someone like Rosie. Lydia described Rosie perfectly.’
‘Oh God, Don, you’re making a terrible mistake.’
‘I’m following the best advice available. Objective, research-based, professional advice.’
Sonia would not accept the clear evidence that Rosie did not want me, evidence that was additional to Lydia’s assessment.
‘Do you want this marriage to work or not?’ she said.
‘My spreadsheet identified—’
I interpreted Sonia’s expression as I don’t want to hear about your fucking spreadsheet. Do you, emotionally, as a whole mature person, want to live the rest of your life with Rosie and the Baby Under Development or are you going to let a computer make that decision for you, you pathetic geek?
‘Work. But I don’t think—’
‘You think too much. Take her out to dinner and talk it over.’
31
Gene, Inge and I had a total of seven connections to the Momofuku Ko website: a notebook computer and a mobile phone each, plus the desktop computer in my office at Columbia. I was issuing instructions, calculated to maximise our chances of securing a table when reservations opened.
Gene had supported Sonia’s idea of taking Rosie to dinner. ‘Regardless of whether you can repair this, you’re going to be parents of a child. She doesn’t seem to have many other friends, besides her Jewish mama who’s been around every day.’ I assumed he was referring to Judy Esler.
On our first visit to New York together, a year and eight months earlier, Rosie had organised dinner at Momofuku Ko, and it had been the best meal of my life. Rosie had been similarly impressed.
At exactly 10.00 a.m. we clicked the reservation button. Available slots on the newly opened day popped up and we selected different times as planned.
‘Gone,’ said Gene. Someone had taken his slot already. ‘Trying the second option.’
‘Mine are also gone,’ said Inge.
‘Missed that one too,’ said Gene.
‘Gone,’ said Inge.
My messages came back. We had failed, mere humans attempting a task better handled by software.
I refreshed the screen. It was possible that someone employing a similar strategy had secured multiple bookings and would now release one. I refreshed again. No success.
‘What’s wrong with that one?’ said Inge, who had been looking over my shoulder. She pointed to the screen.
Fortunately I had access to a qualified accountant. It took Sonia and me until 3.18 p.m. to create the invoices: state taxes varied, invoices for labour and materials were filed separately, Dave had offered a variety of inconsistent mark-ups and discounts.
Sonia contributed comments that alternated between sympathetic and critical: ‘God, this is so complex. No wonder he put it aside.’
‘Eight thousand dollars. From three months ago!’
‘We’ve been living on cash from George. Dave’s an idiot.’
When we were finished we had a pile of envelopes ready for posting and had emailed numerous other bills.
‘Show me the creditors’ total first. I want to know what we owe before I get too excited.’
I checked: $0.00.
‘That’s Dave for you,’ said Sonia. ‘We can’t afford to eat, but no fridge manufacturer is going to have a cash flow problem because of Dave Bechler. Now you can show me the debtors’ total. I’ve been too scared to keep track.’
‘$53,216.65,’ I said. ‘Dave’s estimate of twenty to thirty thousand was incorrect. And it’s reduced because payment has arrived online for two of the invoices you phoned about.’
Sonia began crying.
‘You were hoping for more?’ I asked.
Sonia was now laughing and crying simultaneously. How can it be possible to make sense of such displays of emotion?
‘I’m going to make a coffee to celebrate,’ she said. ‘A real coffee.’
‘You’re pregnant.’
‘You noticed.’ It would have been impossible not to notice. Sonia was huge. The reminder to moderate caffeine could not have been more obvious.
‘How many have you had today?’
‘I’m Italian. I’m having da coffee alla da time.’ She laughed.
‘I’ll have an alcoholic drink with Dave when he gets home.’ I was being empathetic to Dave at a distance.
‘Dave caused this.’ The crying appeared to have stopped. ‘Don, you’ve saved my life.’
‘Incorrect. I—’
‘I know, I know. Don, when you said a therapist told you that you weren’t right for Rosie, I couldn’t ask in front of Dave, but you weren’t talking about Lydia, were you?’
English is annoying in not having unambiguous responses for answering a question framed in the negative. The simple addition of the equivalent of the French word si (‘Yes, I am talking about Lydia’) would solve the problem. Sonia, however, must have read my expression, as no verbal reply was required.
‘Don. Lydia doesn’t even know Rosie. She knows me.’
‘That’s the problem. I was approved for parenthood with you, but not with someone like Rosie. Lydia described Rosie perfectly.’
‘Oh God, Don, you’re making a terrible mistake.’
‘I’m following the best advice available. Objective, research-based, professional advice.’
Sonia would not accept the clear evidence that Rosie did not want me, evidence that was additional to Lydia’s assessment.
‘Do you want this marriage to work or not?’ she said.
‘My spreadsheet identified—’
I interpreted Sonia’s expression as I don’t want to hear about your fucking spreadsheet. Do you, emotionally, as a whole mature person, want to live the rest of your life with Rosie and the Baby Under Development or are you going to let a computer make that decision for you, you pathetic geek?
‘Work. But I don’t think—’
‘You think too much. Take her out to dinner and talk it over.’
31
Gene, Inge and I had a total of seven connections to the Momofuku Ko website: a notebook computer and a mobile phone each, plus the desktop computer in my office at Columbia. I was issuing instructions, calculated to maximise our chances of securing a table when reservations opened.
Gene had supported Sonia’s idea of taking Rosie to dinner. ‘Regardless of whether you can repair this, you’re going to be parents of a child. She doesn’t seem to have many other friends, besides her Jewish mama who’s been around every day.’ I assumed he was referring to Judy Esler.
On our first visit to New York together, a year and eight months earlier, Rosie had organised dinner at Momofuku Ko, and it had been the best meal of my life. Rosie had been similarly impressed.
At exactly 10.00 a.m. we clicked the reservation button. Available slots on the newly opened day popped up and we selected different times as planned.
‘Gone,’ said Gene. Someone had taken his slot already. ‘Trying the second option.’
‘Mine are also gone,’ said Inge.
‘Missed that one too,’ said Gene.
‘Gone,’ said Inge.
My messages came back. We had failed, mere humans attempting a task better handled by software.
I refreshed the screen. It was possible that someone employing a similar strategy had secured multiple bookings and would now release one. I refreshed again. No success.
‘What’s wrong with that one?’ said Inge, who had been looking over my shoulder. She pointed to the screen.
